"In winter, of course, I can't go out; and
sometimes it seems a little long, when Bubble is away all day,--not
very, you know, but just a little. But in summer, oh, then I am so
happy! I can go all round the place by myself, and sit out in the
garden, and feed the chickens, and take care of the flowers. And then on
Sunday Bubble always gives me a good ride along the road. My chair moves
very easily,--only see!" She gave a little push, and propelled herself
half way across the little room.
At this moment the inner door opened, and Mrs. Chirk appeared,--a
slender, anxious-looking woman, with hair prematurely gray. She greeted
Hilda with nervous cordiality, and thanked her earnestly for her
kindness to Zerubbabel. "He ain't the same boy, Miss Graham," she said,
"sence you begun givin' him lessons. He used to fret and worrit 'cause
there warn't no school, and he couldn't ha' gone to it if there was.
Pinkrosia learned him what she could; but we hain't many books, you see.
But now! why that boy comes into the house singin' and spoutin' poetry
at the top of his lungs,--jest as happy as a kitten with a spool. What
was that he was shoutin' this mornin', Pinkrosia, when he scairt the old
black hen nigh to death?"
"'Charge for the golden lilies! Upon them with the lance!'" murmured
Pink, with a smile.
"Yes, that was it!" said Mrs. Chirk. "He was lookin' out of the window
and pumpin' at the same time, an' spoutin' them verses too.
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